


hush, hush (we both can't fight it)

by citadelofswords



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: 5+1 Things, Dancing, Innuendo, M/M, Pining, Trapped In A Closet, Unresolved Sexual Tension, written pre-train from nowhere, you want tropes? we got tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citadelofswords/pseuds/citadelofswords
Summary: “You’re not telling me something, Juno,” Nureyev said. “And I don’t like it when people keep secrets from me.”“Pot,” Juno said, gesturing to Nureyev. “Kettle,” he said, gesturing to himself. “You don’t get to say anything to me about keeping secrets.”  (or, five kisses Peter gave Juno in the wrong spots, and one time Juno corrected him.)





	hush, hush (we both can't fight it)

**Author's Note:**

> Does that description even make sense?
> 
> Is this fluff? Is this angst? No one dies, so it's not sad. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Title from Animal by Neon Trees.

1\. 

They were halfway down the alleyway, Nureyev with several discs of stolen information tucked in his inside coat pocket, when Juno heard a door from around the corner slam shut. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck fuck fuck. Nureyev. _Peter_.”

“I know, I heard,” Nureyev turned around. “Punch me in the face.”

“What?”

“I know you heard me, Juno—,”

“Yeah, but did you actually ask me to punch you? It’s usually only implied when you take that tone with me.”

There was the sound of loud footsteps. “We don’t have time for this!” Nureyev hissed, and that was how Juno discovered that Nureyev would have a solid right hook if he didn’t intentionally miss.

Juno, who had spent months sulking and keeping his windows open in freezing temperatures to try and air out a scent that just wouldn’t leave, decided he was not going to intentionally miss, and punched back.

“Ah,” Nureyev said. “Yes, I see how I could have deserved that.”

“You think you know?” Juno hissed. “You think you know what you did to me by leaving?”

Only about half of this was playacting for an audience. Nureyev raised an eyebrow at him— _You’re not trying hard enough_ — and Juno snapped, throwing himself bodily across the dirt to slam Nureyev up against the wall, going for the throat. 

This resulted in them being in a somewhat awkward position— Juno, with his left arm flung across Nureyev’s neck and his right hand cracked and bleeding where he’d accidentally punched the wall in his haste to cross the tiny space; and Nureyev, breathing hard and heavy, eyes blown wide, trapped between the wall and Juno’s body. 

Juno tried to ignore how Nureyev’s eyes flicked down to his lips and back up again, but he did not step back, and did not release the pressure he had on Nureyev’s throat, even as the footsteps quickened in pace and faded into the distance.

“My my, Detective,” Nureyev said, voice rough from a lack of air, and grinned. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.” Blood welled from a split lip. He was going to have an impressive black eye, and possibly a concussion if Juno had managed to slam his head into the wall.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long, long time,” Juno admitted, voice as hard as steel (heh) before loosening his hold on Nureyev’s neck. Nureyev coughed and snorted out a laugh as Juno took a step back and folded his arms.

“Do you have a concussion?” Juno asked. “Because I don’t think I can drive back if you do—,”

“Don’t worry, I have a skull made of iron,” Nureyev chuckled. “But— what’s this you’ve done to your hand?”

In a blink, he’d taken Juno’s injured hand gently in both of his, lifting it to eye level to examine the damage. Juno was startled— certainly Nureyev had touched him before, a hand to the back or an arm around his waist guiding him in a direction, but never with such care and attention focused just in one place.

“I can drive,” Nureyev said. “I’ve got to wrap this up tonight, after all.” He brushed the lightest of kisses across Juno’s swollen knuckles— barely a kiss, really, but it still made Juno’s traitorous heart race in his chest— and dropped Juno’s hand.

“Well, then let’s go,” Juno growled, trying to ignore the tingling in his hand, and stalked away.

 

* * *

 

2.

Finally, one of their extractions had gone off without a hitch. Juno led the way out of an extravagant mansion, Nureyev following with the tape-deck contraption wrapped in one of Juno’s favorite scarves cradled in his arms, as the entire rest of the household and the security cameras slept on. The one obstacle standing in their way was an eight foot wall surrounding the property which hadn’t even been alarmed. The place was practically begging for someone to break in.

Juno led them to a secluded part of the property, a good distance away from where they’d stashed his car, and surveyed the wall in front of him for a good foothold.

“Need a hand?” Nureyev asked.

“I’m not that short.”

“No, of course not, but this wall is rather slick here, isn’t it?” Nureyev folded his arms. “And you are rather scrawny around the middle and the upper arms. Perhaps I should attempt to climb over first and forge a way that you can mimic?”

“No, I can handle it,” Juno insisted, and found a good place to put his hands. Unfortunately, that place was not as great a place to out his feet, and he felt his left ankle twist. His hand slipped.

He did not fall. Juno knew exactly why, with a cold, sinking feeling in his chest.

“Nureyev.”

“Yes?”

“What is your hand doing on my ass?”

“I’m giving you a boost.”

Juno closed his eyes and tipped his forehead against the wall. “Get your hand off my ass Nureyev so help me—,”

“All right!” Nureyev let go and, oh, now he was falling. Juno found himself on the ground seeing stars dancing behind his eyelids. “There. Do you see what I mean?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Nureyev gracefully scrambled up the wall, disappearing onto the other side with a dull thump. “Be careful over here, there’s a much steeper dropoff.”

“Show off,” Juno muttered, and slowly pushed himself off the ground with a wince. “How did you do that so quickly?”

“I’m taller than you, remember?”

“By two inches, Nureyev.” Juno spied their prize in the dirt where Nureyev had dropped it. “How good are you at playing keep-away?”

“What?”

“Catch.” Juno tossed the package over the wall. There was a muffled _oof_ as Nureyev caught the thing with what sounded like his chest, and then Juno was scrambling up the brick and settling himself on the top of the wall.

“Oh,” he said. “That is a steep dropoff.”

Nureyev looked up from where he was fiddling with the tape deck, which seemed to have come unwrapped from the scarf, and met his gaze squarely. “Not afraid of a little drop, are you?”

Juno blinked. The ground below him swam and he squinted to try and gauge how far down it was. “Uh—,”

“Juno, behind you!” Nureyev suddenly shouted, and Juno jumped off the wall without a second thought.

It was a much farther drop than he was expecting— or maybe it just felt like a farther drop, because there was another grunt and he found himself cradled in Nureyev’s arms.

“There was no one behind you,” Nureyev said. Their faces were very close together. “I have found that the threat of a greater danger helps make decisions clearer.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Nureyev leaned forwards and kissed him on the nose before setting him down on his feet. “There you are, Detective. No one was witness to your moment of weakness except me, isn’t that nice?”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Juno muttered, checking that the way was clear before leading the way to the car.

 

* * *

 

3.

Juno’s upstairs neighbors had filed several noise complaints in the last three weeks (Rita, thankfully, had wiped them all from the system before they could hit any competent officer’s desk) and he was pretty sure there was going to be another noise complaint filed tonight, if the way this argument was going was any indicator.

Admittedly, this one could be blamed on Juno. He _had_ been picking fights for the better part of the last week, his self-preservation instinct kicking in as he tried to deal with Feelings. They deserved those capital letters— Nureyev had gone missing for three days and when Juno had finally found him he’d been slumped against a wall, bleeding out of a wound in his side, and Juno’s first thoughts had been panic. That was not good— that was complicated, and Juno did not deal with complicated. Not even when complicated turned out to still be alive, conscious, and had grinned weakly at him and said “Ah, nice of you to drop by, sweetheart.”

So, yeah, Juno was not ready to deal with those feelings. That meant non-stop arguments.

To be fair, he felt justified this time, since Nureyev had promised to have Juno’s back as they ventured into Oldtown, and then the next thing he knew Nureyev was gone and he was in the middle of a ring of fire and he was pretty sure he was back in the warehouse and Annie’s voice was laughing at him, and he might have been going insane, but he wasn’t sure. By the time he’d finally pulled himself out of the flames, with a nasty burn on his left leg and scorchmarks on his favorite shirt, Nureyev had reappeared, and he’d looked truly shocked at the state of Juno and insisted on the emergency room, and Juno was so tired that he’d agreed.

Now they were back and all Juno wanted was a damn drink, partly to help with the pain but mostly because he wanted to forget all about Oldtown, and Nureyev had kept fussing, and Juno had lost his temper and snapped, and so they were fighting.

“What has gotten into you?” Nureyev asked. “What did you see tonight that has got you so on edge?”

Juno shook his head to get rid of the sound of Annie’s voice, but then his brother’s voice was in his head and he slammed his good hand on the table. “Nothing! Which is exactly the point, there was nothing there and then you _weren’t_ and you told me you’d have my back. I wasn’t kidding about Oldtown, it fucks you up if you’re there too long!”

“That is not what’s happening here and you know it!” Nureyev snapped. “Is this still you reacting to my supposed betrayal during the Kanagawa case?”

“And if it is? You used me to get what you wanted and then waltzed out of my life without a consideration for the _possibility_ that I might have actually trusted you. How am I supposed to be able to tell whether or not you’ve just been doing it again?”

“I considered that you trusted me,” Nureyev said. “Do you think I would trust just anyone with my real name?”

“You didn’t trust me enough to tell me to my face. That was your choice.” Juno turned away and stalked to his liquor cabinet.

“What are you doing?”

“I got burned tonight, Nureyev, I’m drinking the pain away. And no, you cannot have a drink, you _weren’t there_ , which is how this whole argument _started in the first place_.”

Nureyev didn’t quip back. Juno turned around, half-expecting the room to be empty and the door to be swinging on its hinges. Instead he found Nureyev still standing, arms folded, jaw set in a tight line.

“You’re not telling me something, Juno,” Nureyev said. “And I don’t like it when people keep secrets from me.”

“Pot,” Juno said, gesturing to Nureyev. “Kettle,” he said, gesturing to himself. “You don’t get to say _anything_ to me about keeping secrets.”

Nureyev winced. “All right,” he said quietly, and crossed the room. “May I?”

He opened his arms, which was probably the first time he had asked Juno before initiating contact, so Juno placed his glass on the table and stepped into his embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” Nureyev said. “And I don’t say that very often, so please believe me. I am not a good person. You make me want to be, sometimes. You are a far better man than I could ever hope to be.” Juno snorted. “I’m being serious, Detective. I hope to one day earn your trust again. I hope one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me what happened tonight. I know it will take work and I don’t expect it to happen overnight. But please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt you—,”

“But you did—,”

“And I never want to hurt you again. I know you don’t believe me, but I do care about you, and strangely enough I want our little partnership to last. I would never have asked you to run away with me if I hadn’t.”

Juno breathed out. “Ugh,” he said. He was probably going to regret this. “Fine. But you need to follow through on your promises, especially when they’re about having my back, got it?”

It felt like Nureyev kissed the top of his head, very gently, and then he was released from the embrace. “Oh, Juno, I think I can meet you halfway there,” he said, and Juno hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Nureyev’s clever grin until it was directed full-force at him.

Juno picked up his glass again and drank the whole thing down.

 

* * *

 

4.

Juno Steel kept a list (carved into the bottom of the third drawer of his desk) of all the ideas that he’d known were doomed to fail but had agreed to anyway. If he and Nureyev ever made it out of this alive, he thought, this one was going to go at the top of that list, circled, and underlined twice. Infiltrating the backstage of an opera? Whose hare-brained plan had that been?

Nureyev’s. Obviously. Juno had just been along for the ride.

All in all, being locked in a supply closet in close quarters was not the worst way the evening could have ended, especially since they’d locked themselves in the closet and Nureyev had a set of lockpicks on him.

“It would be easier if you would just let me shoot the door open,” Juno muttered, as Nureyev fished in his coat’s pockets.

“Yes. And it would be louder.” Nureyev emerged triumphant with a slim, silver set of tools on a keyring. “Darling, would you mind? I’m kind of in a tight spot at the moment.”

There were loud footsteps from outside and they both froze, looking at the wedge of light shining where a chunk of the door was missing.

“Keep your voice down and sure,” Juno muttered. The lockpicks were pressed into his hand. Nureyev winced and placed a hand against his ribs, wedging it in the centimeters of space between his chest and Juno’s. Juno fumbled for the knob by feel and slid the first pick inside. “Can you slide down just a little bit? Anything that can help—,”

Nureyev slowly slid down, spreading his legs a little bit. It wasn’t much, enough to put his chin on level with Juno’s shoulder, but it was enough that Juno could inch back a little and hunch some to get a better view of the door’s lock.

“Be quick about it, my ribs are in agony,” Nureyev hissed.

“That’s your own damn fault for letting someone get the drop on you,” Juno said, concentrating. At one point he’d been the quickest hand in the city at breaking locks. Maybe he could be if the feeling of Nureyev pressed almost completely against his front wasn’t so distracting.

He’d managed to get two pins and was starting on the third when there was the sound of shouting from outside. Nureyev jerked and Juno slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his yelp of pain. Thankfully, the shouting was loud enough to drown out that sound, as well as the sound of Nureyev slipping further down so his face was mashed into Juno’s collarbones. Only his hands gripping Juno’s waist saved him from sliding all the way down to the floor.

“I almost got it,” Juno whispered.

“And when the door opens on a veritable fistfight outside?”

“It won’t. The door opened into the closet, remember? And you’re braced against it, it won’t open.”

Nureyev pressed a sloppy kiss to Juno’s neck, lingering there as Juno popped the third pin. Juno bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from doing something stupid ( _like shoving Nureyev to his knees right here?_ his traitorous mind supplied) and focused on the final pin. “Stop that,” he whispered. “Not here.”

“Is that a promise?”

“ _No_. Nureyev—,”

“All right, all right,” Nureyev said into his neck, and nipped lightly at the skin before drawing away a few centimeters. Juno got the last pin into place and had turned the doorknob with a satisfied click when there was the sound of laserfire from just outside and the sound of shouting abruptly cut out.

They stood in silence for a long while.

“What do you think are the chances that everyone out there is dead?” Nureyev asked, still gripping Juno’s waist tightly. Juno drew in a breath and closed his eyes.

“Give me my gun,” Juno said, and hissed as Nureyev’s hand slid around his back and pulled his gun from where he stowed it in the back of his pants. “When I say so, move to your left and duck. I’ll take ‘em out.”

“Juno—,”

“You’ve cracked at least one rib, Nureyev, you’re useless to me right now,” Juno said. “On three.”

“Are you counting to three or are you just going to say the word three?”

“ _Don’t_ — Fine. Three!”

Nureyev slid to the left. Juno threw the door open and threw out his gun arm.

The hallway was completely deserted. No bodies, no active gunmen, not even a civilian to be seen. Juno let out a breath but did not relax.

“Nureyev,” he hissed. “Now’s our chance— let’s get out of here.”

“I completely agree,” said Nureyev as he emerged from the closet, arm wrapped around his torso. Together, they limped to the exit.

 

* * *

 

5.

“Why is it that every time you get invited to a fancy party you have to bring me as your plus one?” Juno hissed, as he pulled another Ring of Saturn off a server’s tray.

“Appearances, Detective,” Nureyev replied smoothly, removing the glass from Juno’s hand and replacing it with his own flask. “Stop taking their alcohol, remember, I told you it was likely poisoned.”

“I don’t think so. Drugged, more likely.” Everyone here was too chattery for a fancy dinner party, after all. Juno took a swig from the flask and something rich and woodsy hit the back of his throat. “Mm. What is this?”

“Whiskey, stolen off Earth,” Nureyev said smugly. “Don’t drink too much, I want you sane and sober so we can find our little thief.”

“You’re standing right next to me.”

“I’m not so little, though, remember?”

Juno did remember. He drank to forget. “I’m fine,” he said. “And I will be fine, even if I finish off your drink.”

“Mm, but you’re not going to finish my drink.” Nureyev plucked the flask from his hands and drank deeply from it, eyes sweeping the room as he did. “That would be very rude of you.”

“You offered it to me.”

“And now I’m taking it back.”

Juno rolled his eyes and glanced over to the other side of the room. “Don’t look now, but we’re being watched—,”

“I know, I know,” Nureyev murmured. “Let’s get a better vantage point, shall we?” His voice seemed to drop an octave as he placed his flask back in the inside of his jacket and offered Juno his arm. “Come with me.”

This better vantage point turned out to be the open hall, where a number of couples were swirling in an Oldtown style waltz. “Oh, fuck me,” Juno muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “This cannot be happening.”

“You need to relax and I need a better look at his face,” Nureyev sighed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance, Juno love.”

“On the contrary, Peter darling,” Juno countered, and Nureyev’s eyes flashed. “Do you prefer to lead or to follow?”

For a moment Nureyev almost looked startled, like Juno had caught him off-guard. Then, he gave him a sharp grin, almost feral, and said, “I can be flexible if you prefer.”

Juno exhaled and tried to steady his pounding heart. _No complications, Steel, you promised yourself you wouldn’t make your life complicated._ “You’d better lead this time, then,” he said. “But only one dance. We’ll see how it is afterwards.”

Was it his imagination, or were Nureyev’s eyes dark? _Focus, Steel!_

Nureyev, as it turned out, was as smooth with his steps as he was with his words. From this proximity, Juno was overwhelmed with the smell of his cologne, which had taken three weeks to dissipate from his apartment. All other sensory input drained away as he focused his gaze firmly on a spot just over Nureyev’s shoulder, tuning out the visual world and allowing the smell and the gentle sounds of their steps and the hum of the music and the feeling of Nureyev’s suit starch-stiff under his fingers wash over him.

“He’s on the move,” Nureyev murmured, and his hand shifted from Juno’s hip to the small of his back, pulling him closer as the music shifted from a light waltz to something even slower. Juno knew that if he turned his head his lips would brush Nureyev’s cheek. As it was, Nureyev’s lips were ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Shall we follow him? Or would you like a chance to lead, first?”

Juno swallowed to clear his dry throat. “One more,” he said. “We weren’t dancing long enough for me to decide how unskilled you are. Our friend can wait.”

He could feel Nureyev smile, then, as he pulled back enough to press a kiss to Juno’s cheek. “I’m glad you agree, love. Now. Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Juno groaned and dropped his forehead to Nureyev’s shoulder. “You’re the worst,” he said, muffled a little. “That was the worst thing you’ve ever said, and you’ve told me stories about your time working on Uranus.”

“You pronounced it wrong.”

“No, I— Shut up.”

Nureyev laughed and his fingers tightened in the jacket of Juno’s suit. Strangely, even though they were chest to chest, neither of them missed a single step, moving in perfect sync through the ruse of the happy couple. Most of the other fancy parties they’d gone to had not ended as well as this one hopefully would.

“Hm, that crowd is getting very giggly for a few ladies who only had two glasses between them,” Nureyev said. “I think we should follow our thief now, lest something terrible happen.”

“Good plan,” Juno said, and _almost_ missed the loss of contact when Nureyev stepped away. Then, Nureyev’s hand was taking his, and Juno could feel his face heating up like he was still thirteen and hiding with Andy Irons in the locker room. “What?”

“Appearances, Detective,” Nureyev said, and from inside his jacket pulled his flask again. “Let’s find somewhere a little more _private_ , yes?”

He winked, and Juno very hurriedly drank as Nureyev tugged him away.

 

* * *

 

+1

Later, Juno dragged Nureyev— Peter, he supposed— onto a balcony in the building across the street so they could have the best view of the show happening below them. Peter took a long drink from his flask and passed it to Juno, who shook the last few drops onto his tongue. Below them, Khan was shoving the thief they’d been tailing out the door, shouting obscenities all the while.

“I don’t think we quite pulled this one off,” Juno mused.

“We got what we needed,” Peter pointed out. “Besides, with him out of the way someone even more powerful may be lured from the shadows.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Possibly.”

Juno snuck a glance at Peter out of the corner of his eye. Peter was watching him with a pensive calmness, one eyebrow quirked up. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing. You’re just starting to sound like me, that’s all.”

“You mean I’m starting to sound like a thief.”

“Semantics, love.”

Juno lifted his hand, hesitated, and then made a careful decision and rested it on top of Peter’s where it lay on the balcony railing. Peter immediately turned his hand over so their palms were pressed together and their fingers could tangle. “Something troubling you?”

“No.”

“Juno. You can’t lie to me. You get this cute wrinkle between your eyebrows when you do, I can always tell.”

“You think it’s cute?”

“I think you’re cute,” Peter said.

“You wouldn’t dare call me cute,” Juno said, grinning. “Call me something else or you’ll see exactly how skilled I am with just the things I have in my pockets.”

“Ooh, ooh, baby, talk criminal activity to me,” Peter drawled, in a terrible imitation of Juno’s voice. He slid his other hand up Juno’s shoulder to his neck, thumb resting somewhere on Juno’s pulse point, and added, “Darling, I think you’re cute and sexy and unbelievably stupid sometimes, but I bring you to these fancy events as my plus one because I like you in that bizarre pre-teen _like_ -like you way. Also because you look positively divine in a suit and it takes every ounce of my self control to not rip it off you with my teeth.”

“Watch yourself, Nureyev,” Juno chuckled. “Think you can control yourself until we make it back to mine?” Their noses were brushing.

“Your office is closer and I have had dreams about that desk,” Peter said, winking, and Juno wound his other hand in Peter’s tie and pulled him in until there was no space left between them. 

Juno had almost forgotten how it felt to kiss Peter Nureyev, but the slide of silk-smooth lips against his own was as familiar as the whiskey taste on Peter’s tongue. Without anything like Peter’s true motives clouding Juno’s focus he was able to drink in all the sensations that he’d missed out on the first time they’d kissed— Peter’s stubble scratching against his cheek, Peter’s fingers working their way into his hair, the quiet sounds Peter made when Juno tugged on his tie just so, and the way he inhaled every time their lips parted and met again.

“Nothing’s troubling you? Truly?” Peter asked, forehead bumping Juno’s, when they separated for air.

“Not anymore,” Juno told him, and kissed him again just to shut him up.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, Nureyev's voice is so difficult to write.
> 
> [Come say hi!](http://citadelofswords.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
